Strawberry milk
Our Love for Food (in 100 words, 250 words, and 500 words)
Our MINCE team is filled with people who think about food (all the time), and we love it :) Many of our incredible members even wrote about their love for food in various undergraduate/post-undergraduate admissions applications. Enjoy the compilation below, organized alphabetically by year. All this is to say, food is always much more than just the plate in front of you. Food is another term for family, love, growth, community, and culture.
April Wu, ‘26
We know you lead a busy life, full of activities, many of which are required of you. Tell us about something you do simply for the pleasure of it.
Coming from a family that takes the extra effort to lug a cast iron and gas stove to make full-fledged hotpot at a camping site in the middle of nowhere, it’s safe to say I was raised with a very food-centric mindset. And if there’s one activity that could represent our family most accurately, it is our yearly tradition of making dumplings.
It could be the 4th of July or Thanksgiving, it doesn't matter; we will cluster around the dining table in impassioned focus on pinching dough. Trays of rows upon rows of perfect bite-sized morsels of various fillings (pork and chive, kimchi and tofu, galore!) rotate in and out of the kitchen as they are steamed, boiled, or potstickered. We are seasoned chefs, but by no means experts. Our wrapping is casual. If we are rather ambitious with the filling, and a dumpling looks ready to bust—pshhhh, just double-wrap it! While my sibling and I have definitely upped our speed and accuracy of pleating the wrapper since our younger days, there is always the obligatory one that got away—some dumpling would end up exploding its guts out. We always laugh about it and argue that it adds flavor to the boiling water.
For me, folding dumplings represents some of the most enjoyable moments of life, because it captures the intimacy of family and close friends, the relaxed atmosphere, and a celebration of imperfections.
Melissa Du, ‘25
Please tell us more about your cultural background and identity in the space below.
Hearty chunks of potato. Tender chicken thigh. Whole red chilis. Each component overlies a bed of “belt” noodles, whose craggled edges perfectly cling onto umami broth. I slurp up a strand and close my eyes as I’m transported to food euphoria.
I’ve inherited my love of food from my mother, who’s revealed her incredible arsenal of Chinese dishes over the past 17 years. Delicious aromas lured me out of bed on weekend mornings, and I would fly downstairs to an extravagant breakfast; delicately crispy and flaky scallion pancakes served as an expression of love.
My mother cooks out of a desire to nourish her family, but at the same time, she’s gifted me with an essential element of her culture. The memories of wrapping dumplings over Chinese New Year and rolling sticky rice balls during the Winter Solstice weave through my childhood, connecting me to the traditions of my heritage.
Jacob Teo, ‘25
CommonApp Essay
Every school holiday, I inevitably do the same thing: bake a batch of French macarons.
I made my first batch when I was twelve—a complete disaster, with my cracked, misshapen final product nearly too grotesque to behold. Yet, having spent over 12 hours trying to follow the recipe’s intricate steps, I had so many unanswered questions. Why did my macaron shells crack? Why did their colour vanish? Why did my chocolate ganache look like vomit? That day, my obsession with the macaron began. These questions needed answers, and I set upon finding them, batch by batch.
This was not my first foray into baking. On my ninth birthday, my mother bought me a present: the Le Cordon Bleu cookbook. It detailed every aspect of traditional French cooking, from appetizer to dessert. Of course, with my sweet tooth, the baking section immediately caught my eye. I tried my hand at cookies, cheesecakes and pies. One recipe, the meringue, particularly captivated me—how an unassuming egg white could transform into a huge, foamy mass. In fifth grade, this was my topic of choice for my school science project—investigating how the coagulation of egg white proteins resulted in a stiff white mountain, and how ingredients like sugar, salt and vinegar affected this incredible process. One hardly contemplates the science behind food—yet it’s truly amazing.
To me, baking has always been about discovery. Everything I tried to make raised a question—how does it work? Baking was a never-ending rabbit hole for my inquisitive mind. How did gelatin set to form a firm jelly? Why did sugar syrup have different textures at different temperatures?
Baking itself is very much a science—each batch a new experiment. Yet it’s a lot more than just trial and error—it requires understanding. It reminds me of another of my loves: computer science. A recipe is like a computer program, and why it works is simply the underlying algorithm driving the program. What I sought was to understand, fundamentally, how the algorithm worked—so I could tweak it and recreate it to my heart’s desire.
I’ve been asked why I make the same pastry over and over again. I questioned myself hard too; after over ten attempts, with relative success – why do I still keep making macarons?
It dawned on me that I didn’t really bake for the final product. I realized what I truly wanted—freedom. No baker could possibly make something for the first time without a recipe. But I didn’t bake to make something to eat—I wanted mastery. Macarons were a canvas for my ideas. I wanted to invent a flavour in my mind, imagine its taste on my tongue, and create it without a recipe. Baking was a vehicle to exercise my imagination.
Interestingly, baking illuminated to me how I approach many things. In many endeavours, it’s only when you attain mastery, when you achieve sufficient understanding, that it stops being the point of focus. It becomes a medium to channel your creativity. That’s what I want to attain in what I do—that level where I can achieve something new independently, without following others.
It struck me that this manifests in my academic interests. I love algorithms because with an intimate understanding of the fundamentals, you can potentially solve any problem. It even shows in my other pastimes; in billiards, I dream of controlling the ball to the limit of my imagination. As a child, my love for LEGO stemmed from the ability to build custom structures from the given bricks.
This is what I love—I believe when you go deep enough into a field, it becomes less about the content and more about the way you approach it. Because anyone can follow a recipe, and anyone can type out several lines of code. But the subject matter is just a carrier for what I truly love—the processes of problem solving, new discovery, and turning imagination into reality.
We know you lead a busy life, full of activities, many of which are required of you. Tell us about something you do simply for the pleasure of it.
I bake French macarons. This difficult, temperamental pastry began as a one-off personal challenge, but my disastrous attempt immediately sparked an obsession, and countless batches eventually yielded perfect picturesque domes. I’m asked why I make the same pastry over and over again–it’s a canvas for my ideas. I crave the mastery needed to invent a flavor in my mind, imagine its taste on my tongue, and create it without a recipe. Baking is a science, where understanding must be gleaned from repeated experimentation. This freedom to concoct whatever flavors I want makes the satisfaction from each batch simply incomparable.
Joanna Cao, ‘24
Tell us about a time something didn't go according to plan
And... Done! One peach-cream cake down.
Excitedly, I balanced Kristie’s birthday cake in one hand and reached for the refrigerator door.
I never made it.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
in...
slow...
motion...
as half of my cake slid off the cake board and onto the floor.
God doesn’t exist.
I let out one long yell and immediately flipped into damage control mode.
Can I salvage the cake? I can salvage the cake. The peach sauce takes longer than the cream, so let’s start the peach sauce.
I whipped open the fridge, juggled some peaches to the stove, and started the sauce.
One down, two to go.
I grabbed some cream, tossed it into a mixing bowl, and jacked the mixer on high.
The ultimate challenge awaits -- piecing the cake back together.
Piecing the cake together was, unfortunately, not a piece of cake. The cake collapsed and I was left with a game of Tetris, except the pieces were shaped like Galaga monsters rather than Ls and Ts.
Let’s carve this space bug out and fit it into that spaceship... I can “glue” the cake together with a bit of cream... Oh fudge, how is the cream doing?
Perhaps God exists, I conceded, because I turned to the cream to see it whipped to perfection -- any longer and I’d have blue cheese; any shorter and I’d have a soupy mess.
Three hours and a round of Happy Birthdays later, Kristie turns to me, “Did you make this yourself?”
I hugged her.
“First try.”
Angela Zhang, ‘24
We know you lead a busy life, full of activities, many of which are required of you. Tell us about something you do simply for the pleasure of it.
I started baking in middle school, when puberty first acquainted me with the concept of stress. Since then, baking has grown from an occasional relief to a passion. I’ve always found the baking process deeply artistic, and I take pride in the beautiful loaves or perfectly golden pastries that I pull hot from the oven. The day I finally figured out how to turn chocolate chip cookies into cream puffs–little hollow balls of cookie filled with pastry cream (!!), my joy was akin to that of a scientist building a functioning time machine. Pleasure would have been an understatement.
Kristine Zheng, ‘24
Describe the world you come from; for example, your family, clubs, school, community, city, or town. How has that world shaped your dreams and aspirations?
As a toddler, I played with dough while watching my grandparents fold dumplings. Reviving our childhood playground to plant squash and bean vines, my parents passed on their love through food. With every bite of cooking, I heard their “We love you” and tasted home. My sister and I grew up dripping ripe tomato juice down our chins as we helped dad weed and picked fresh herbs for dinner. I trekked to my neighbor’s house bearing mom’s bing (饼, a flatbread), exchanging warm trays for playdates with their cats.
At school, my classmates and I bartered pudding cups for chips, building friendships one “business deal” at a time. Sharing food soon became an utmost important part of our identity; no longer were we afraid of judgement on our beloved family cuisines. In eighth grade, we even organized a potluck, gorging on everything from lumpia and cheesecake to pierogi and idlis. Inspired by my Korean friend’s favorite banchan, I tried my hand with fermenting kimchi at home. Countless hours later, the different combinations of vegetables, seasoning, and temperature finally fermented with proper pungency and acidity. The taste, of course, was heretical for “kimchi,” but my friend was won over by the fizzy cabbage and I fell head over heels for the beautiful and funky dish.
My journey with food has just begun; I dream of a society that celebrates differences like my world taught me to enjoy diverse foods. In college and beyond, I see myself chit-chatting with friends over cherished meals and adventures.
CommonApp Essay
I've always loved food. As a toddler, I played with dough while watching my grandparents and aunts fold dumplings. My sister and I grew up munching on ripe tomatoes, dripping juice down our chins, as we helped dad weed and pick fresh herbs from our vegetable garden. My family even transformed our childhood playground into a rack for squash and bean vines. I often trekked to my neighbor's house bearing mom's homemade (饼, a flatbread), exchanging warm trays for playdates with their cats.
At school, my classmates and I bartered pudding cups for chips, building friendships one "business deal" at a time. As we grew older, sharing food became an important part of our identity; no longer were we afraid of judgment on our beloved cultural cuisines. We even organized potlucks, absolutely gorging on everything from lumpia and cheesecake to pierogi and idlis.
After years of eating scrumptious meals, I developed an interest to innovate and create; I analyzed menus like books, browsed innumerous articles, and dreamed of food: the heavenly aroma and the glorious taste. My inventions include melted cheese on bananas, and peanut butter with seaweed crisps. I certainly don't recommend the first, but the latter is sinfully addictive.
At my friend's favorite restaurant, I met spicy and tangy kimchi for the first time. I was immediately hooked, making me determined to try my hand at the fermentation process. Setting out with basic chemistry knowledge, I dove into Maangchi's YouTube videos and various recipes. First, several hefty Napa cabbages had to be bathed and salted. While waiting for the cabbage to wilt, I mashed cloves of garlic and ginger to oblivion, drawing out the maximum flavor. These alliums were mixed with the other ingredients before I stuffed them in the cabbage leaves. Hours later, I finally closed the jars and waited. Each morning, I released the jars' built up gas bubbles and searched for unwanted mold. When the jars began to smell acidic, the cabbage was fermented perfectly: savory and sour. Each batch after, I added something new: a few sprigs of leek, a glug of soy sauce, chopping in whatever I had. The taste, of course, was heretical for "kimchi," but my friend was won over by the fizzy cabbage and I fell head over heels for beautiful, funky fermentation. Despite being a traditional food, kimchi opened my culinary creativity and strengthened my relationships. The next projects, already in planning, are fermenting eggs and kombucha.
My journey with food has just begun: I dream of a world that embraces differences like my community has taught me to enjoy diverse foods. From briny lobsters sold by jolly fishermen in Maine to the floral ice cream in Victoria Island's Butchart Gardens, every dish I try opens my mind (and taste buds!) to vibrant history and cultures. In college and beyond, I see myself chit-chatting with friends over cherished meals and adventures. We all make life more special by mixing our flavor contributions, especially if they are as unusual as melted cheese on bananas.
Jacky Cheng, ‘23
What event in your life has prompted you to grow in unexpected ways?
When I came to the U.S. to attend college, I was shocked by the oversalted, greasy, and overpriced food at MIT dining. Within seconds of taking my first bite in the dining hall I resolved to learn how to cook, even though I had no prior experience in cooking.
I quickly learned that following a recipe is like executing a research protocol, something I was well-trained at. Inspired by the local New England produce and the bountiful seafood, I decided to focus on French cuisine to highlight the quality of those ingredients. I followed classic cookbooks such as Auguste Escoffier’s Guide to Modern Cookery, familiarizing myself with basic preparations like stocks, consommés, and the five mother sauces of French cuisine. Soon, I was following recipes from Michelin-star restaurants, such as Thomas Keller’s “oysters and pearls” and “lobster beets and leeks”.
At the same time, I experimented with recipes of my own. I took inspirations from my lab research: when my research supervisor, Professor Sharp, talked about his interest in liquid-liquid phase condensates and how they may regulate cellular processes, I adapted the concept and devised a method to control fat rendering in steaks using a “phase condensate” emulsion. The result is a piece of meat that retains its natural juices while fully expressing the flavor stored in its fat, a combination that brings out the best of both phases.
Coming to the U.S., I never envisioned myself developing an avocation of cooking. Now, cooking is an integral part of my life and brings me as much joy as dentistry does.
